


Make Nice

by catastrophism



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Fangirl - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow series - Gemma T. Leslie
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 18:23:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5101034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catastrophism/pseuds/catastrophism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Mage has a plan to get Simon and Baz to make nice, but it goes further than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Nice

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written in ages, and the first Rainbow Rowell one ever, and for some reason I feel that that's relevant. Also relevant: go to Quotev.com/catastrophism for a version with ITALLICS!

They'd shared a room for years--seven long, tedious years, of in Simon's case looking over his shoulder, and in Baz's case shovelling feelings down and burying everything deep below the ground, all the time. But now it was different. It's one thing to share a room but have classes and other places to escape to. Being trapped together, constantly, for days on end, might just turn Baz insane.

What was the Mage thinking?

He wanted them to get along, that's what. He guessed that if they were isolated from everyone but each other for long enough, they'd have to work together. To cooperate and be nice.

Baz wanted to give the Mage a good firm punch to the face. Maybe a kick to the privates, too.

On the bright side, he wasn't going to be missing any classes. On the not-so-bright side, he was going to miss the start of summer. Probably all of it, knowing his own stubbornness. Maybe even the beginning of eighth year. What would his parents say to that?

It didn't really matter. Of course, he did sort of want them to get involved--keep him away, away from Simon Snow and the torture of being around him.

But a bigger part of him (a more dominant part, a part he wished wasn't there) wanted to stay here at Watfords, with Simon, without worrying about his father or anyone except the frustratingly attractive Chosen One. Sure, he wouldn't beg for the opportunity to come, but now that it had….

So he lied, and refused to let anyone argue with him.

"It'll be a good experience," he'd argued while telling his father."To work as a Normal, keep away from magic for a while. Learning about their culture and all that. I'll be fine."

Maybe if it'd been face to face his dad would've suspected something. But on a crackly phone call, with bad reception and both of them hushing their voices so as to not be heard by those around them? Lying was a piece of cake. Besides, he was distracted by the war. Fighting with the Mage.

And Simon. Well, Simon didn't have anyone to go home to. He didn't have to worry about anyone intervening, saving him from what would surely be hell.

Secretly (of course secretly, Baz did everything secretly) (except whenever Snow somehow managed to get out a little piece of info), he hoped that it wouldn't be hell. Not the whole time, anyway. And he hoped that the Mage's plan would work--better than the Mage would've expected, too. Maybe, just maybe, Simon would feel the same way as he did.

But of course he wouldn't--he's got Agatha. Perfect Agatha, beautiful as a Greek Goddess. Why would Simon (Simon Snow, who's straight, Baz tells himself again and again) turn from her to Baz? His vampire roommate who he's totally sure is out to get him. Who is out to get him, technically. (But Baz doesn't try to do any permanent damage any more. Not since he realised that if he beat Simon Snow, he'd be the one most devastated.)

That's another thing. Even if they did magically get together, or even become friends, they'd still have to fight. Properly. Because that's what a nemesis is--somebody to fight. One day, Baz would face Simon in a duel. And he sure as hell won't let himself win. Even if he did try (which he would, he'd have to, he couldn't just abandon his family) he'd lose. Nobody can win against Snow.

Except the Mage. Because the Mage got him to agree to this.

Well, not that he had a choice. But he didn't fight very hard against it. That had to count for something, right? Snow thought they could work together.

Or that he'd manage to prove something about Baz... Fuck.

He hadn't thought of it that way, but now that he had, he had to wonder how he could've ever been so stupid. If there’s one thing Simon Snow is good at, it's obsessing over whatever plot he thinks Baz is forming… Even though he has far better things to do.

He should listen to Bunce more.

“Why did I agree to this again?” Baz says, watching Snow eating a sandwich. (He was sitting on his bed, getting crumbs everywhere.) (It must be a heaven for ants in there.)

“You didn't,” Snow says, somehow talking through half a sandwich without lessening Baz's attraction to him. “Neither of us did.”

Baz rolls his eyes. “I could be out of here by tomorrow if I wanted. Unlike some people, I have a family.” Simon winces, and Baz wants to apologise. (Snow just looks so hurt, like a kicked puppy.) (It's unfair, but he doesn’t even realise he does it.) He doesn't, though. It isn't like he'd believe him anyway. 

“Why not just go then? Make it easier for both of us.”

Baz shrugs and keeps watching him, and now it's mutual watching, mutual daring to look away.

I could kiss him, Baz thinks. Or kill him. Or turn him. Would the anathema apply if I didn't mean harm? 

-

Days pass. Slowly, slowly going along. They don't talk to each other, not unless it's something simple like “open the window”. Baz reads books, watches Simon as he plays Tetris on his illegal DS Lite. But eventually Simon can't stand it any longer. It seems you can only stack digital blocks for a certain amount of time until you break.

“We need to get out of here!”

The sudden shout startles Baz, and he has to keep control of his fangs as they start to fill his mouth. 

“Crowley, Snow, anyone'd think you're bored,” he says without looking up from his book, a Normal one by some guy called John Green.

“Shut up. This is... I'm going insane.”

“I can't smell that bad.”

Simon pushes his jaw forwards. Baz smells nice, both of them know that. Dangerous, clean, and sweet. Metallic.

“Shut up,” Simon says again. “What does the Mage want us to do? How do we cooperate? What do we cooperate on?”

He's pacing, now. That's something he picked up from Penelope. It drives Baz up the wall. He shuts the book, keeping his fingers between the pages to keep his place, and gives Simon a direct, cool look. 

His pacing stops, but he runs his fingers through his hair, pulling at it so much that Baz has the irrational thought he’ll pull it out and wants to go take his hands, keep them somewhere they can’t and won’t damage his beautiful head of curls.

“Want to go bald, Snow?” says Baz, snarkily as he can.

“Shut up, Baz.”

“Make me.”

Baz hadn’t meant to put magic in the words, but every day he’s been stuck with such close proximity to Simon, his magic has went a little bit more haywire. A bit more wild, a bit more Simon. 

And now he’s kissing him.

Baz didn’t mean to do that.

But he’s not complaining. Snow’s good at this. At kissing. He has practice.

Practice.

Practice with Agatha.

Baz pulls away.

“Simon,” he says.

“Baz.” He’s watching Baz’s face, frowning slightly. “I--I didn’t mean to do that.” He’s trying to meet Baz’s eyes, he’s looking away. Looking at the hem of his duvet cover, which is apparently the most interesting thing in the world, now. 

“Then why did you?” He has to know. Because despite everything, a fragment of hope is in him.

“Baz, you spelled me,” Simon says, fumbling for words. “I never would have done that, not normally. But.” There’s a pregnant pause. 

“But?” Baz asks, finally looking up to meet his roommates eyes. (Those eyes, like a puppy. Begging.) (For forgiveness, probably.) (To forget all this, probably.)

“But I’d do it again.”  
He’s watching Baz’s face closely, trying to read his thoughts.

“What about Wellbelove?”

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “We broke up months ago ago. She found somebody else.”

How could anyone be better than you?, Baz can’t help but think.

“Are you still spelled?” he asks instead.

Simon shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Are you?”

Baz raises an eyebrow.

“Right, stupid question. Next question: would you?”

“Would I what, Snow?”

“Would you--will you let me kiss you again?”

“Simon, I’ve been wishing since we were twelve.” And he pulls Simon down by the hair.

**Author's Note:**

> Please judge this harshly. I must I M P R O V E.


End file.
